Showing posts with label Hoyles-Escasoni. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hoyles-Escasoni. Show all posts

October 25, 2014

Paul's new digs...and getting it right


Sometimes, governments get it right. A cynical view perhaps, but when the electorate seemingly continues to get the short end of the stick – or worse yet, get poked in the eye with that stick – it’s hard not to be a cynic. Or angry.  Years of broken promises, corruption, endless self-serving photo ops – I could go on - tend to do that.
 
But as I stated, sometimes the right things are done. Specifically, the construction of the new state-of-the-art long-term care facility in the east end of St. John’s. It recently opened to replace the aging and overcrowded Hoyles-Escasoni complex. Somewhere along the way, someone got this right. And it was likely championed by a nameless mid-level public servant who recognized the need and put this on someone’s agenda.  It was long overdue. At this point, just which government decided to build the facility, Tory or Grit, is inconsequential. I don't know and I don't care. But taking credit in an era of self-praising press releases is the new norm. However, moral responsibility should trump political opportunism.

There is no question that our population is aging and the number of people requiring long term care is increasing. Governments have to be prepared for this. My suggestion would be to level the old Hoyles-Escasoni complex and build another facility like the one just opened. We’re going to need it.
And just as the population of senior citizens is increasing, so too, is the need to help those suffering from mental illness. Great strides have been made to make services available but the waitlist for those seeking help is far too long. As the brother of a long time Hoyles home resident – “resident” - Jesus, when you say it like that it sounds as if he lived in a high end retirement villa. But it wasn’t of course; far from it. He suffered brain damage as the result of a suicide attempt over 20 years ago and requires constant care. The residents on his floor have conditions of varying severity and - for a lot of reasons - it’s a tough place to visit. I can’t imagine the dementia ward.

But no long-term care facility, no hospital, no hospice has a suicide ward. There are no prosthetics to help those suffering from mental illness. Recent high profile accounts of deaths by suicide has brought the need for improved mental health treatment to the forefront. It’s our job to keep it there. The courage of those affected to step forward and speak openly about the loss of a loved one by suicide should be embraced. I don’t think this discussion would have occurred 10 or 15 years ago. At least not publically.
Mental illness is no longer a taboo topic left for gossip bags to whisper about in some corner. “The Launch”, a concert held recently to raise awareness of mental health issues, and news of a 24 hour mental health crisis team are positive steps.  The momentum to break the stigma and increase access to mental health treatment has never been greater. Although we have a ways to go, the ball is firmly rolling in the right direction. Governments can build on this and again, has a chance to get it right.

May 8, 2014

Groupies

Last Saturday, with Timmie’s in hand - 5 small coffees and 40 timbits ($14.03 Vicki Kaminski, if you’re reading this) - I dropped in to see Paul for my weekly visit.  I normally drop by on Thursday’s but had to wait until the weekend. I’m glad I did.

Saturday at Hoyles-Escasoni is a day when more families come to visit loved ones and there were plenty of visitors there last weekend. Some I had met before; others for the first time. It was good putting a family with a face, so to speak. Many knew who I was which was kind of nice. “Oh, you’re Paul’s brother. The guy with the timbits.” Guilty as charged.
The atmosphere was light and most of the residents and staff seemed to be in a good mood. The ladies for whom I brought coffee were tinkled pink. (Truth be told, I’m not sure if I do it more for them or for me.) As usual, Paul and I played and sang tunes from my phone. Clapton is always first.
“Who do you want to hear?”
“Eric Clapton!"
“No shit.”
It’s usually followed by some Zeppelin and Tull. Lately I’ve been playing songs and asking Paul who it is. He’s normally gets it right and even knows the lyrics. Pretty cool actually now that I think about it.

But this visit I brought my harmonica. Now, to say I “play” is a stretch. It makes noise. Some actually discernable, but mostly hit and miss. This explains the random blues riffs and trains I do. Always trains. When I mess up, which is always, I do something bluesy or a train which always seem to work. Like I know what I’m doing. Riiiiight. Let’s go with that. Needless to say, Neil Young is not shitting his pants.

Anyway, the ladies with said coffee hear this and come over – all giddy and pumped on caffeine.
“Play Harry Hibbs. Do you know Harry Hibbs?”
“Not personally, no.”
Paul chimes in, “Play some f%#@ing Harry Hibbs!”
Le sigh.
There’s not a chance in hell I’m doing Between Two Trees (or anything thing Harry Hibbs) on harmonica. But as luck would have it, depending on your point of view, I know the chorus and some verses of Black Velvet Band. Mom used to sing it when we were young – usually on Sundays when she was overcooking the pot roast.  We used to call it the rubber roast. “Is it really supposed to bounce when you drop it Jean?”
Anyway, I tell them I can’t play Harry Hibbs but I can sing one of his songs. All this time, some guy, who’s visiting a relative, is giving me this are-you-really-going-to-do-this kind of look. He can barely keep from laughing. To hell with it and I started in: ”Her eyes they shone like the diamonds…”

Thank-you. Thank-you very much. I’ll be here next week. Don’t forget to tip the staff and don’t try the specials.

Turns out the girls knew the song and Paul started singing too. When we got stuck, we just repeated the verses over again. We mangled a few more songs, mostly Irish-Newfoundland stuff, but it was a blast.  And YouTube is your friend here people. Trust me on this one.

When I was leaving one of the nurses said I now had a fan club. Fan club? You mean groupies.  I suppose they’re not technically groupies if you have to bribe them with food and drink. But I can always dream….and I am starting guitar lessons soon. Regardless, it was a great day.